


Favourite Feature

by LiaIsInLove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: BPD, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Cutting, Depressed Niall, Depression, Mania, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Niall-centric, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Niall, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 21:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2202975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiaIsInLove/pseuds/LiaIsInLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Niall what’s your favorite feature?” The interviewer asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat.</p><p>My scars, Niall didn’t reply.  It’s not like he could just say that, after all.</p><p> <br/>(Or the one where Niall explains why he is not ashamed of his illness)</p><p>THIS IS MASSIVELY TRIGGERING.  I AM ABSOLUTELY BEGGING YOU NOT TO READ THIS IF YOU COULD IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM BE HARMED OR GET ANY IDEAS BY THE INCREDIBLY SERIOUS THINGS I AM DISCUSSING.  I WILL TAKE THIS DOWN IF I THINK IT IS TOO TRIGGERING.<br/>PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE FAINTEST POSSIBILITY OF BEING TRIGGERED</p>
            </blockquote>





	Favourite Feature

**Author's Note:**

> *****PLEASE READ*****
> 
> PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE EVEN THE FAINTEST POSSIBILITY OF BEING TRIGGERED
> 
> This is about self harm and living with severe mental illness. It is from the point of view of someone who has a mental illness, and subsequently condones some extremely harmful and dangerous behaviors. This is from a perspective distorted by disease. THIS IN NO WAY WHATSOEVER JUSTIFIES, CONDONES, OR MAKES SELF HARM ANY LESS SERIOUS. SELF HARM IS NEVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, JUSTIFIED. IT IS DANGEROUS AND SHOULD NOT BE MADE LIGHT OF.
> 
> IF YOU HAVE NEVER SELF HARMED BEFORE, DON'T START AND IF READING THIS MIGHT MAKE YOU WANT TO, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. 
> 
> IF YOU HAVE EVER ENGAGED IN SELF INJURIOUS BEHAVIORS, AND MIGHT BE TRIGGERED AND WANT TO BY READING THIS, PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS. 
> 
> IF YOU ARE HAVING URGES TO HARM YOURSELF IN ANY WAY, PLEASE VISIT THE LINKS TO DIFFERENT HOTLINES THAT PROVIDE 24 HOUR SERVICE TO HELP YOU. I will fully list them in the end notes as well as some other info and recourses, but these are the links to websites that list them:  
> http://insteadofcutting.tumblr.com/hotlines  
> https://self-injury.net/resources/hotlines
> 
>  ***
> 
> A friend of mine was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor and had to have emergency brain surgery. She is doing well, and I am relieved, because she is one of the sweetest kids I know. Yet I am so horribly ashamed and disgusted and hate myself for my bitter envy of the love and support she is getting (and deserves because she is so amazing and kind and incredibly strong, and my prayers are with her always) in her time of need, when so many people with mental illness also have life threatening conditions, but they don't get an ounce of compassion or empathy. Hell, most people living with mental illness are too ashamed and afraid to even tell people that they are sick, let alone why. 
> 
> To those of you strong enough to have made it this far living with whatever setbacks and challenges you face, you are warriors. You are courageous, and strong, and can do anything you set your mind to, maybe not at first, or in the traditional way, but you are resilient and determined, and I admire you. I recognize your struggles and what you must face everyday, and I am so incredibly sorry that you have had such pain and sorrow. I understand that whatever it is you face, you are neither at fault nor do you deserve it, and I urge you to continue being a warrior.
> 
> Please note: I mean no disrespect to any people with other serious illnesses/diseases, and I am in no way shape or form trying to diminish their struggles and suffering.

“Niall what’s your favorite feature?” The interviewer asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

 _My scars_ , Niall didn’t reply.  It’s not like he could just say that, after all.  No one even knew that he had them in the first place, and if they knew, they’d make him stop.  It’s not like he could explain how beautiful he thought those jagged, puffy, pink and white lines littering his body were; if they knew they’d think he was crazy and have him locked up somewhere, and he’d be forced to stop adding to his collection. And maybe he was crazy, maybe it’s not normal—it is not normal—to adore the marks he leaves on his skin, but crazy or not, he wants to keep making more marks, and so he won’t breathe a word. He’s sure that no one else will find them beautiful.  They’ll freak out and tell him it’s wrong, that he needs to get help, that he needs to stop. But he doesn’t want to stop. Not even a little. Which is funny because everyone always thinks that cutters don’t want to cut, they’re ashamed of their scars, and hide them because they’re so disgusted by them. 

But Niall is not ashamed.  He is proud of his scars.  Proud that he had the courage to make the chaos inside his head tangible. Proud that he had strength enough to show his problems run more than skin deep.  Proud that he had proof that he was messed up. If anything, he was ashamed that his scars weren’t deeper, ashamed that they were hidden.  Honestly, if he didn’t know that showing his scars would only lead to people trying to get him to talk, trying to make him stop, he would cut every inch of his body, and display every gorgeous scar with a smile. He’d slice up his arms, and parade around in short sleeves, because look, his sickness is real, it’s not invisible, it’s not just in his head, it’s with him every second of the day, it’s serious, he’s proud to have survived all of the agony, and he’s proud to be a beautiful tragedy. 

He’d show off his scars for everyone to see, so that people would see him and not tell him to suck it up, act normal, stop being selfish, stop being an oversensitive baby, leave his baggage at the door, think of other people for once instead of himself; they would see and know that he’s sick, and no amount of therapy or medication is going to change the fact that he hates himself and wants to be dead, no amount of therapy or medication is going to make his illness disappear, and he doesn’t want his illness to go away because he _doesn’t_ _know_ who he is without it, _he is nothing without it_ , an empty shell with no identity.  And he doesn’t want to be ‘fixed’ (because he can’t be fixed; nothing will ever make him like himself when he is so inherently bad inside), he wants to be beautifully, tragically, irrevocably broken, and that’s his choice, and that’s how he’s always been, and that’s how he’ll always be, and he can’t control it, and it’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. And he shouldn’t be blamed, despised, feared, and shunned for a disease he didn’t ask for, didn’t want, didn’t deserve. Just like someone with a brain tumor is not to be blamed for having a brain tumor.  

But someone with a brain tumor gets gift baskets, and sympathy, and prayers, and kindness, and love, and tears, and letters, and visits, and acceptance, and pans and pans of lasagna and whatever shit the neighbor’s bake to help in any way they can.  Someone with a brain tumor is considered “strong,” “a fighter,” “courageous,” “brave.”  Because their sickness is visible, something that people can understand. But his sickness can’t be seen, and instead of receiving sympathy, and love, and kindness, people with invisible diseases are not only ostracized, hated, made to feel ashamed of themselves, abandoned, and labeled as ‘evil’ and ‘crazy’ and ‘psychos’ and ‘lunatics’ and ‘deranged’ and ‘mad’ and ‘mental’ and ‘criminals’, but they are also unable to see the world clearly. 

People with invisible diseases are trapped in a world where everything is painful, everything is cruel; a world where they cannot see themselves as anything other than a mistake, a pathetic waste of space that deserves to suffer.  A world where they would rather die than endure the torment of another day, a world where they deserve the agony, they deserve to die.  And then of course factor in how no one understands why he can’t just ‘be normal,’ why she can’t just ‘get over it,’ and instead of trying to understand, they refuse to believe that you are sick and can’t help it, they hate you for it, they tell you it’s your fault you can’t control your own thoughts, let alone actions, they tell you you deserve it.  And doesn’t that fucking hurt. 

People with invisible diseases are so so very much sicker than those with visible diseases like brain tumors, because on top of the pain and suffering, they lack the one thing that every human being, every living creature shares: the will to live. They don’t want to fight and get better, because this is how they are, this is how they’ve always been, this is how they’ll always be, there is no other way, they can’t see the world through a ‘normal’ lens, they can’t imagine a world in which the first response isn’t to hate yourself, want to hurt yourself, want to die.

So if Niall could wear his scars for all to see, he would.  He would show Harry the little white hash marks on his bicep and say, "these ones came from an old x-acto knife that was pretty of dull, but still cut alright.  I pressed really hard but there was hardly any blood, even though they weren’t all that shallow, which was really disappointing, but that’s why they’re so thin and haven’t faded.” 

He would point to the curved pink line running the length of his calf and whisper to Louis, “technically this came from the time I tripped over a fence, but I kept ripping off the scab so that it would bleed and hurt and leave a scar.  Pink jagged scars are from when you keep pulling off the scabs.  You only get the thin straight white ones that everyone thinks of if they’re deep enough and you don’t keep reopening them.” 

He would gesture to the light pink and tan blotches on his arms and stomach and tell Liam, “when you don’t have anything sharp, you can scratch yourself back and forth until you scrape off all of the skin: this is not great for anxiety and immediate emotional stuff because they don’t really hurt that much the first day, but they’re good reminders and good for punishment because they sting like a bitch the second, third, and fourth, and they leave scars for about a year tops but they don’t look like cuts, so you don’t need to hide them.” 

He would lower the waistband of his boxers to show Zayn the two thick, raised, maroon, scars and state, “the bottom one came from a razor, and the top one was from a brand new x-acto knife. I didn’t know either would cut so well—it was like slicing through butter, literally—so I pressed really hard.  I was so scared the first time; the second time I was in the middle of a manic episode and thought it was hilarious. They both probably needed stitches cause they were more than a centimeter and a half deep and about a centimeter wide and bleeding like mad.  They're keloid scars; the reason they’re so raised is because the skin couldn’t sew itself back together like it does with most cuts, it had to fill the whole crevice with new scar tissue—you should have seen how it was all white and bubbly—but it produced too much collagen—that’s the stuff in scar tissue—so they're raised. I cut through a layer of fat—I could see it, it was all white and gross—and I don’t have any nerves here anymore; I can’t feel when you touch them.  I could make them flat by rubbing on them and applying pressure, but I love them this way. I love feeling them, and running my fingers over them.   They’re my favorites; I’m so proud of them.  I wish I was brave enough to do it again but on my arm, but I’m too scared. They hurt so much, and took weeks to heal all the way up.” 

He would remark to Josh that, “pale skin is both a blessing and a curse.  Cause it can hide little white scars really well, if you don’t wanna get caught, but it also means that you have to cut really deep, or keep pulling off the scabs if you want the scar to last, and no one can see them unless they know where to look and are up really close.” 

He would explain to his boys why, “razor blades and pencil sharpeners and brand new blades and stuff like that are not great because you can’t see what your doing.  It’s like you drag it across, just wanting it to sting a bit and bleed and then you watch as the skin peels back a second after you lift up the blade, leaving a giant gash that’s gaping and gushing blood, like something out of a sci-fi horror movie. But this isn’t a movie. It’s real.  You can’t even begin to process what’s happening, you are frozen, horrified at what you have done. 

_"What have you done?_

"You want to die, but not at this second because you didn’t have time to plan it out and write a note, and god dammit you want to die on your own terms, not because you accidentally cut too deep.

"And it’s not a straight line that’s deep and bleeds.  Your skin just falls apart because the blade cut so smooth and deep and there’s nothing holding it together, so you can see straight into it and see how many layers you’ve cut through, and you watch it fill with blood, and then the blood bubbles up and spills over, and it’s weird because you can pinch your skin back together and it fits, and you want your cut to be like that because then you don’t have to see into it and it still bleeds and it’s beautiful, but when you let go it’s so wide, and you can see everything—and your literally frozen, horrified, and you’re thinking oh my god what is that white stuff? Is that fat?  And you’re in shock, you can’t think, can’t feel; you can’t even register what’s going on enough to feel pain, or be revolted that you’re so fat, you can literally see it, and it is disgusting, just like you, before the panic sets in—and it looks like someone just carved a chunk out of you.

"It’s really fucking terrifying ‘cause with razors and stuff you have no idea how deep your going, and it doesn’t hurt as you do it; it’s a pain that catches up with you gradually.  And it hits hard, so hard you can barely keep yourself from screaming—sometimes you can’t. 

"And if you cut deep enough, you can feel it inside you, not just in the cut, but the whole muscle.  Any time you try to move or touch the muscle, all you can think about is the searing pain.  And it keeps bleeding for hours.  You think that you should hold the skin back together so it can heal normally, but every time you let go, it reopens and gushes blood again. 

"And you don’t want to put a bandage or cream on it, because it won’t close and seal up and you don’t want to have it inside of you, because you can’t just smear antibacterial cream on top because there is no top, even when it stops bleeding, and it hurts so unbelievably fucking badly. And putting gauze over (in) it to cover it hurts, but it’s nothing compared to when you have to change it because it’s soaked through with blood, and you don’t want it to get infected. Because the side of your leg or wherever you cut is pretty much hanging wide open, the gauze goes inside it, and essentially gets glued to your skin by the dried blood and whatever else is oozing. You can’t just pull it off because not only would that be too painful to even imagine, but also it would rip out whatever blood clotted and sealed the side and bottom edges enough to stop the bleeding and any amount of scar tissue that started to grow out and you’d be back worse than you were at the start. Prying it off gently doesn’t work; it’s basically super glued in. So then you try to get the bandage wet, but you cannot get any water inside of your cut because that is so unbelievably painful.  And when you finally get it off (out), it’s bleeding anyways. 

"And then when you have to shower for the first time, to wash it and make sure it’s not infected, or to at least clean yourself, or try to rinse of the dried blood or stickiness from the bandage—that stuff leaves horrible rashes by the way—you try so hard to keep the water from getting into it. 

"But it never works. And your whole body is on fire, searing, burning, scorching, enveloped in a blazing inferno of anguish. It is torture.

"You never meant to hurt yourself this badly.  You like pain, but this is too much.  You are sobbing, screaming, hunched over beneath the water because you are in too much fucking pain to move out of the acid sizzling your flesh away, and even if you did it wouldn’t make a difference because you can’t just stick a towel inside of your fucking leg to dry it off because that would be dangerous and hurt so much and you are just too terrified to prod around at the inside of your muscle; you don’t want to—can’t—bring yourself to know what it feels like to feel something from the inside.

"And eventually the pain ebbs enough that you can move. But even then…

"Even then you have to try and wash yourself without getting any soap or shit inside it…because if water hurts that much, you can’t even begin to fathom how much soap or shampoo or whatever would.

"Once you know how to tend to it, and can bear the pain (it even hurts when you walk or sit or move in any way) that kind of cut doesn’t seal up.  The skin can’t knit back together or anything cause it’s too wide, so it kinda just slowly fills up unevenly with the white bubbling puss that scares the shit out of you because it looks like its infected (and if it's infected you need medical attention from a real doctor, but that means you have to tell someone about what you've done and you can't—you just can't—do that).  It takes weeks for the stuff to reach the top, and even then it doesn’t form a normal looking scab.  It’s tender, soft and still aches like you wouldn't believe.

"And after several weeks it’s closed and there’s skin where the hole used to be.  But that kind of cut leaves a shiny raised mound of scaly bright magenta skin that never regains the kind of feeling it had before.  It’s still raised and pink over a year later.

"So, if you’re gonna cut, which _you_ really shouldn’t do, but if you do already and are gonna no matter what, don’t ever use a razor blade or something like it, stick with duller things.  Even scratching is good.  Razors and shit are way too dangerous, and way too horrible to deal with after.”

And his boys would nod, understandingly, swear that razors were horrible, and then tell Niall that they loved him no matter what, and as long as he wasn’t threatening his life—which he really wasn’t if he stayed away from razor blades and overly sharp shit—they would let him cope with his life how he wanted, but they wished he didn’t need to do it. They would assure him that he had every right to be the way he was, it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t deserve it, and they would cure his sickness if they could. 

They would hold him tight, and admire his courage and strength, the pain he has been through, and what insurmountable challenges he has to overcome everyday just to stay with them.  They would agree that his scars were so fucking beautiful, and they would love them as much as he did because they were the visible marks left by his invisible illness that were just as much a part of him and his identity as was his Irish heritage or his music.

They would not freak out and try to ‘save’ him, for they would understand that this was who he was— _who he really was—_ and he was not ashamed.  And they would love him for it. They would stand by his side through any and every storm his mind would weather, and give him their unadulterated love and compassion and acceptance and patience and forgiveness.

But Niall knew, no matter how much he wished otherwise, that would never happen. 

So instead, he sat sandwiched in-between Harry and Zayn on the couch, Louis and Liam perched on the arms, and replied without missing a beat, “My eyes.”

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify, self harm is not just cutting. By definition, self harm is "the act of deliberately harming your own body" and includes any harmful/dangerous/painful behaviors and can be done for thousands of different reasons. Some common types of self harm are cutting, burning, hair pulling (see trichotillomania), skin picking (see dermatillomania), scratching, pinching, hitting oneself, interfering with healing (i.e. pulling off scabs), bone breaking, head banging, excessive alcohol consumption, drug use/abuse, drinking/injecting harmful chemicals into the body, and collision with objects (i.e. punching a wall) to name a few.
> 
> THERE IS NO SHAME IN ASKING FOR HELP, Here is a link to the international suicide hotlines:  
> http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html
> 
> SELF HARM ALTERNATIVES:
> 
> when you're angry/restless:  
> •Scribble on photos in magazines  
> •Viciously stab an orange  
> •Scream loudly  
> •Tear apart newspapers, photos, or magazines  
> •Go to the gym, dance, exercise  
> •Pop bubble wrap/balloons  
> •Write your feelings on paper then rip it up  
> •Use stress relievers  
> •Throw ice cubes at the bathtub wall, at a tree, etc  
> •Break sticks  
> •Cut up fruits  
> •Stomp around in heavy shoes  
> •Buy a cheap plate and decorate it with what ever expresses your pain/sadness and then smash it (be careful)  
> •The Calm Jar (Fill a jar water and glitter. When upset or angry you can shake it to disturb the glitter and focus on that until the glitter settles.)
> 
> sensation (other than pain) without harming yourself:  
> •Hold ice cubes  
> •Run your hands under cold water  
> •Splash your face with cold water  
> •Put glue on your hands then peel it off  
> •Bite into a hot pepper or chew a piece of ginger root
> 
> distract or take up time:  
> •Say “I’ll self harm in fifteen minutes if I still want to” and keep going for periods of fifteen minutes until the urge fades  
> •Play an instrument  
> •Paint your nails  
> •Cook  
> •Dress up  
> •Make a chain link out of paper counting the hours/days you've been self harm free  
> •Memorize a poem with meaning  
> •Learn to swear in another language  
> •Plan regular activities for your most difficult time of day  
> •Make a phone list of people you can call for support. Allow yourself to use it.  
> •Pick a subject and research it  
> •Take a small step towards a goalbr />  
> •Re-organize your room  
> •Name all of your soft toys  
> •Do some house hold chores
> 
> when you're feeling guilty, sad, or lonely:  
> •Remember a happy moment and relive it  
> •Look at things that are special to you  
> •Compliment someone else  
> •Youtube funny videos  
> •Let yourself cry  
> •Play with a pet  
> •Imagine yourself living in a perfect home and describe it  
> •If you're religious, read the bible or pray  
> •Carry tokens to remind you of peaceful comforting things/people  
> •Write down the negative thoughts and then physically re-write them into positive messages
> 
> when you're feeling panicky or scared:  
> •Listen to soothing music  
> •Meditate or do yoga  
> •Do a “reality check list” – write down all the things you can list about where you are now (e.g. It's the 9th November 2004, I’m a room and everything is going to be alright)  
> •Drink herbal tea  
> •Feel your pulse to prove you're alive  
> •Accept where you are in the process. Beating yourself up only makes it worse  
> •Lay on your back comfortably (eyes closed), and breathe in for 4, hold for 2, out for 4, hold for 2. Fill your belly with air, not your chest. When you're comfortable breathing, put your hand on your belly and rub up and down in time with your breathing. If your mind wanders move it back to focusing ONLY on the synchronized movement of your hand and breathing  
> •Light a candle and watch the flame
> 
> give the illusion of seeing something similar to blood:  
> •Draw on yourself with a red pen  
> •Cover yourself with plasters where you want to cut  
> •Give yourself a fake tattoo  
> •Draw on the areas you want to cut using ice with red food color it
> 
> sort through your feelings:  
> •Identify what is hurting  
> •Call a hotline  
> •Write a letter to someone telling them how you feel (you don’t have to send it)  
> •Start a grateful journal where everyday you write down three good things that happened/things you accomplished/are grateful for/made you smile. the journal is strictly for positive things. when you feel down you can go back and look at it
> 
> See the full list at:  
> http://www.teenhelp.org/forums/f12-self-harm/t9418-alternatives-self-harm/ 
> 
> Wow that was long. I'll end by reminding you that you are loved and you deserve to be happy. If you are ever struggling, or if you need a friend, or if you just want to talk, come find me on tumblr at lia-is-in-love.tumblr.com
> 
>  
> 
> Lots of Love,  
> -Lia


End file.
